


Cat Got Your Thong

by kettish



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Panty Kink, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:23:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6379747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettish/pseuds/kettish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo has had enough of his cat stealing the neighbor's underthings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat Got Your Thong

**Author's Note:**

> Title is the genius brainchild of StrivingArtist. She and godihatethisfreakingcat did a rockin' job editing this thing!
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr under the same name as here. (Please note it's frequently NSFW!)

Bilbo stood, hand over his mouth, tapping one overlarge (to other races) and furred foot against the wood flooring as he considered.

This was getting out of hand.

E.G. looked up at him with cool green eyes and blinked once at him, tail curled up neatly around his little cat paws. 

“This really must stop,” Bilbo warned sternly. “Somebody’s out quite a few pair of smalls now and I haven't a clue how to return them!” He waved a hand excitedly at the pair of boxer-briefs on the ground in front of the grey tabby. “Look at this! Two last week, another pair of socks! This bloke is going to go broke just from having to keep his bits covered!” 

E.G. raised a paw to lick it a few times, then got distracted chewing a claw. Bilbo threw up his hands, turned around, and went to fetch the bag in which he'd stored the rest of the cat’s stash.

The total so far was six pair boxer briefs, 9 socks, and an outlier in the form of cotton boxers printed with tiny cacti wearing sunglasses. Bilbo had thought initially maybe E.G. was starting to expand his hunting grounds until he'd compared the sizes and found them consistent with the rest of the basic, charcoal-grey, no-nonsense pants. Well, everyone had something fancy, he supposed.

Bilbo groaned again, aggravated, and carefully scooped the unders off the floor with the side of the bag so he could tuck them in with the rest without touching. They didn't look dirty, but who knew where E.G. was taking them from?

 

Things went along that way for a while. Bilbo collected a few more pairs of socks and pants over a couple months, and every time he'd scold E.G., carefully store the article of clothing bomb-squad style, and tell himself he really needed to find whom they belonged to.

Well, he assumed they were recent acquisitions anyway. A new pair of boxer briefs under the old, cracked leather couch, fresh among the little bit of dust that had collected. A black sock tucked behind the white slatted laundry room door. Once, memorably, its partner was stashed on a high shelf among Bilbo's knick-knacks and books.

But he really put his foot down when the cat dragged in a lacy, cobalt-blue pair of panties complete with a bow above a keyhole inset at the ass.

“This is-really, E.G.! - goodness, those have to go!” he shrieked, across the room from the offending item. He cringed, considering touching it (some lady's bits had probably rubbed all over that) and found he couldn't bring himself to do so, even through the storage bag. A frantic search through the flat led him to his broom, and he swept them onto a paper plate before depositing them into the bag with the rest.

“That’s it. You,” he said, shoving a finger towards E.G., “are now an indoor-only cat. Goodness knows Bell has been after me to do that anyway; it's safer for you, you know. And these,” he said, his lip curled, “need to go home.”

It took a while with Bilbo shuffling the underthings around on the floor with the broom, but he finally managed to get the whole of it into a frame. He snapped the photo with his phone and went online to get a flyer made and printed, and the next day he was off, stapling flyers around the neighborhood. Light poles, the neighborhood bus stop’s bulletin board, the boards at the grocery, shoppette, and coffeeshop all received a flyer, and for good measure he put one up at the pub a few streets over as well. In all locations he made sure to post one high for the Men (and Elves, should any float by) and at his height for Hobbits and the few Dwarves in their area.

“Are these yours?” the papers read, with a picture of the articles laid out on the floor, a smug E.G. posing in their midst. “My cat stole them. Please contact xxx-xxx-xxxx to reclaim.”

A good day’s work done, Bilbo nodded smartly to himself, tucked his scarf up a bit more snugly, and turned his toes toward home.

 

Two days later, a tall Dwarf with traditionally long hair pulled back into a neat braid and thick muscles filling out his warm thermal shirt saw the flyer and spat out his beer at the barkeep, who laughed hysterically after checking that his wool-lined cap was safe.

 

Bilbo's distress continued to rise as more lacy underthings found their way into his home. Some of them were very fetching, actually, but Bilbo couldn't quite get over the “ick” factor of thin fabric rubbing in a stranger’s intimate lady-spaces. He did work up the courage to look up the manufacturer of one he really liked the looks of, and considered ordering. They even had a men's section, which he bookmarked to peruse more closely later.

A buzz sounded from the counter and he glanced over to the kitchen to see his phone vibrating against the granite-colored counter. (It wasn't real granite, of course, but a sort of hard plastic that Men and Dwarves had worked together to make. Arda could only take so much mining, after all, and even if Dwarves delved deep for jewels they could at least spare the strip mining rock harvesting required.) 

An unknown number showed on the screen, but that wasn't unusual - Bilbo only ever programmed in his closest contacts, and everything else remained a number. 

“Hello?” he answered absently.  
“You have my pants,” a gruff voice blurted out, and Bilbo frowned.

“I didn’t take it, my cat did,” he reminded carefully, “but yes, I’ve quite a bit of it here at the flat. Sorry to say, but he’s started stealing your girlfriend’s lace as well.” A hacking cough erupted on the other end of the line and it took a moment before the other could speak again.

“Ahm,” the stranger said, “well, can I pick them up please? They’re expensive.” 

“Oh! Oh, yes, certainly,” Bilbo said, and gave him his address. They agreed that the stranger - Thorin, he said his name was in a deep rumble that almost didn’t make it over the phone - would stop by that evening and grab his bag of underthings, and Bilbo would make sure E.G. stayed indoors.

So it was, at eight o’clock sharp, a knock sounded smartly on his front door and Bilbo snatched the bag of unmentionables before heading towards the door. He swung the door open, linen in hand, and froze.

The dwarf standing on his stoop was fucking gorgeous. His hair was long, tucked back in a plait and secured with pins, and touched with silver at the fore. He’d apparently just finished a shift at the pub Bilbo had posted his flyers at, if his uniform was any indication, with the long-sleeved shirt turned up to his elbows and jeans well-fitted to his classically-dwarvish physique. Dwarves were thick and muscular and of a closer height to hobbits than most other races, if a bit more well-furred. Stout like stone, everyone always said, and they were right.

All the same, Thorin was a little lankier than most dwarves, with sharper features than might be called handsome in their culture. Bright blue eyes that reminded Bilbo of a welding torch’s flame looked steadily back at him and then Bilbo realized he was standing there, in his robe and pajama pants, holding this beautiful dwarf’s briefs along with what was probably either his girlfriend or wife’s lace underthings as well, and staring.

“Sorry, ah, about the cat,” he stammered, shoving the bag towards the solid chest in front of him. Thorin’s arms came up automatically to take it as Bilbo hurried to pull his robe shut over his soft stomach and sparse chest hair - bother his hobbit genetics! “He’ll be inside from now on, so no worries about him taking any more of your things. Or your lady friend’s things. Friends’. Uh. Things. Ah. Yes. Enjoy!” And with that he shoved the door shut, leaving the dwarf gaping on the front step and retreating to make several cups of fortifying (and fortified) tea.

 

Life continued on as it had been after that. He avoided the bar now, although he’d never seen the dwarf - Thorin - there before, so he supposed it wasn’t likely he’d be in when he was on shift anyway. Regardless. Best to avoid that awkwardness. Really. Since he’d made a fool out of himself gawping at the poor dwarf like a simpleton. And his cat having stolen his underpants. Yep. Intensely awkward.

Bilbo thought of him wistfully (and, alright, perhaps a bit lustfully) from time to time, but thought he’d probably never see him again. And so it was unexpected when E.G. ran out the door as Bilbo fetched the paper one morning, and even more so that he returned with a familiar pair of lace panties held proudly in his mouth.

“No, Earl Grey, no,” Bilbo moaned, clutching his hair in his fists to steady himself. “You did not. Why? You couldn’t just go run off some steam and come home like you used to? Catch a pigeon maybe? A dead pigeon would be better than this.”

E.G. chirped at him, talkative little thing that he was, and flopped down on top of the lingerie to purr and rub his face against it. Bilbo’s nose crinkled up in disgust before shooing the cat quickly away - great, now the cat would need a bath. Bilbo would not be letting him rub his little crotch-sweaty face all over his flat.

As he wrestled E.G. into the washtub - a process that involved a tea towel, a washcloth, and some large rubber gloves in an attempt to protect his hands - Bilbo considered. What to do? He supposed he knew where Thorin worked, and could therefore bring him the panties. Ugh. He really didn’t want to do that. 

In the end Bilbo stuffed them into another small linen bag, as he had before, and tucked them away. It was easy to forget about them at that point.

 

Another two weeks rolled by. E.G. seemed to dog his footsteps whenever he went anywhere near the door; Bilbo resorted to trickery and sneaking when he had to get the morning paper, or the mail, or go to the shop, or - well, anything involving the front door, actually. It was spring and his cousin Prim came by more often, chatting as they had a cuppa or watched some bad telly over takeout on the weekends. She was even kind enough to come by when he caught that cold at work - really, people should keep their kids home when they’re sick! - and fed him soup and light sandwiches and just a nibble of toast. 

Two days later and he felt well recovered, and she went home, and Bilbo realized he hadn’t seen E.G. in a while.

“E.G.?” he called, looking in the laundry room first. Then the bedroom: “Earl Grey, come on, little love, I’m all better, let’s have a sit on the couch and I’ll bust out the new feather toy Prim brought.” Bilbo started to really worry until he saw the upstairs guest bedroom door slightly ajar, moving minutely with the breeze, and he realized what had happened.

“Prim!” he exclaimed in exasperation. She must have opened the window to air the room out a bit while she stayed and forgotten to shut the door all the way. And now Earl Grey was out there somewhere, probably stealing underwear again. Bilbo spent the day fretting since he wasn’t usually gone for this long (an hour or two was usually his limit out of doors) until around 8 pm a familiar knock sounded on his door. He bolted to his feet and ran to the front, swinging the door open to reveal Thorin, carrying Earl Grey, who was purring smugly in his arms.

“Your cat has a thing for my drawers,” he said dryly, as E.G. rubbed his cheek against the dwarf’s knuckles. “Actually caught the little bugger this time, though. He’s been sneaking into my clean laundry pile through the window.”

“Oh thank goodness they’re clean,” Bilbo said, feeling the air go right out of him in relief. “Sorry, he’s made off with another of your lady’s things, let me go fetch them…” Thorin shuffled his feet a little, still holding the cat, and a light flush ran across his cheeks as he cleared his throat a bit.

“I, uh...actually,” he began, and Bilbo frowned. Thorin ducked his head a bit, focusing intently on the cat now, and cleared his throat to try again. “I’m not with anyone. Actually.” Bilbo frowned a little harder, tilting his head slightly forward to make sure he heard him right.

“So, ah, if you’d like - we could go get a pint and a bite to eat,” he forged forward. “My work has good food. And. Um. It’d be on me. As thanks for not tossing my knickers. Or a date. Whichever you’re more comfortable with.”

Bilbo was full-on staring, now. Thorin was...so incredibly handsome. And so, so incredibly awkward. And then, slowly, Bilbo smiled. Awkward he could deal with. He was awkward, too. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they were both equally awkward, and it’d work itself out. (And really...the thought of Thorin wearing those gorgeous cobalt-blue panties he had sitting in a bag in his laundry was very tempting.)

“I’ll just go feed E.G. here and we can head out,” he announced, and Thorin’s smile was the sun breaking through the clouds.

**Author's Note:**

> Liked this or my other fics? [](https://ko-fi.com/A2121AK)


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